


Young man with a bruised old soul (one snap to bring you back)

by rosierey



Series: Open Your Fist Just Enough (For a Hand) [3]
Category: True Detective
Genre: Domesticity, First Dates, M/M, Marty's Commitment Issues, Old Men Having Feelings and Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series Finale, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, they do everything in the wrong order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosierey/pseuds/rosierey
Summary: "Rust you, erm... You're okay, right?" Rust peers at him, expression unreadable but with a hint of uncertainty. "I jus' don't.... want you to think- I mean are you happy... with me?"
Relationships: Rustin "Rust" Cohle/Martin "Marty" Hart
Series: Open Your Fist Just Enough (For a Hand) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761442
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Young man with a bruised old soul (one snap to bring you back)

It shouldn't feel so... monumental, Marty thinks as he stands in the hallway in his underwear with the mail in his hands. They've been living together for a little while now, moved all of Rust's things in; he built some shelves for all his books and Marty did the heavy lifting (at his own insistence) and the space became a studio instead of the spare bedroom. For a few days Rust did absolutely nothing, like he was deliberately fighting Marty giving him the room as a "studio" on principle (because he never got to win the argument about the pointlessness of hobbies). When he did finally break, and Marty came home to find him smudging charcoal on paper tapped to an easel, neither of them mentioned it although Marty was smug as hell. They had very loud, very intense sex that night. So, things are pretty damn domestic around here and Rust is better and better (nearly) every day.

Which is why this feeling, this overwhelming grip that's constricting his lungs feels completely unprecedented because it's just the mail. It's just post with Rust's name on it. He purses his lips and stares at the name printed above his, well, their address. Rustin Cohle. It looks like a medical bill. Where else would they send it, where else would they send any of his mail? This is where he fucking lives. Up until now it hasn't been so... so official. Marty takes a deep breath, he's being stupid. Issues with Commitment his therapist explained one session years ago. Guess time hasn't done anything to deal with that.

"Anythin' interesting?" Rust calls from the kitchen and Marty jerks from his stupor.

"Erm, no, there's some- Got somethin' for you here," Marty answers, shuffling through the small pile casually as he comes through to where Rust is scrambling eggs at the stove with slow methodical stirs. He's wearing one of Marty's t-shirts again, baggy and hanging off one shoulder for dear life. Marty gets an undeniable thrill from the sight, Rust probably likes the size of them but Marty likes to pretend he wears them for all those romantic reasons college chicks do it with their jock boyfriends stuff. Marty shoves his own letters into the miscellaneous draw and leaves Rust's on the counter. "Something from the hospital looks like."

Rust hums and grabs a fork, eating straight from the pan. Marty smiles to himself and finds a fork too, coming to Rust's side and taking a mouthful. He hums in appreciation and Rust leans subtly into his side. Some days Marty wonders if he'd just been doing all his other relationships wrong, there was always a need to perform like the women he was with expect- no, Marty couldn't blame them it's him. He wanted to be the men they imagined him to be and yes, he could keep it up for a while but inevitably... Lisa, Beth.

Thing is there is no expectation with Rust. Maybe to take out the garbage in the morning and bring home Lone Star when he's out, but nothing truly. They eat on plates at the table sometimes, sometimes it's takeout or like this. Breakfast in the pan like a couple of students. They don't go on dates (although, Marty thinks, Rust would look good in a proper suit), sex doesn't need a big build up or romancing. Marty assumes it's because they're guys, it's so easy one kiss or gesture and they're off. Marty wouldn't say it out loud but Rust can go from reading the paper to pulling his pants down in a few seconds like he just suddenly had a craving for- Well, Marty isn't gonna complain, no sir.

Their forks fight over the last few scraps in the pan and Rust plays dirty, pinching Marty's side so he flinches away with an indigent laugh. He watches him scoop up the last mouthful and chew, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Does Rust expect anything, he wonders? He's so difficult to read sometimes and now he wonders, is Rust is having to settle? The man is gorgeous he could do better. Suddenly the mail doesn't feel like such a big deal.

"What?" Rust asks, playful suspicion in his tone. Marty shrugs, mood suddenly dampened, and embarrassed.

"Just thinkin'-" Rust hums dubiously, hiding a smile when Marty shoves him lightly. "-Nah, I- The bills if you... need any help with that I'm..." Rust pauses in front of the sink, head tilted Marty's way looking at him dubiously. He can feel his face heating up so picks up his mug and mumbles into it, "I'll- I'm just gonna stop talkin' now. You, urm, got any plans today?"

"Nah... Was gonna go the library."

Marty pauses then swallows his mouthful of coffee and gestures to the doorway. "The library? Ain't you got enough books in there to read?"

"That's the point, Marty, I've read 'em. Library has more."

Library... Marty hasn't been to one since the kids were still in school. Couples do things together, Maggie hated it when he complained about meeting with her friends or going shopping with her because couples should do those things. "You want company?"

Rust stops again, an even more incredulous look on his face. "To... The library?"

"Yeah."

"You can read?"

"Shut the- Who was typin' up all our damn reports back in the day, huh? Can't read." Marty tuts. Rust shakes his head fondly and he feels a terrible swell of affection for him. "C'mon, I'll even let you pick somethin' out for me."

"A'right." Rust dries his hand and steps up to Marty, curling his fingers into the hem of Marty's t-shirt to pull him down into a kiss. Kissing Rust is so, so good some nights it's all Marty needs to settle his head after a long day. There's plenty of hands in places and mouths too, but the simple act of kissing Rust... Maybe he can find the words to describe it in one of those books in the library. He runs his hands up Rust's biceps to his neck, thumbing the pronounce line of his jaw. Rust pulls away first, that little lingering expression of bliss Marty catches conjuring a thousand butterflies. "Fine. Don't worry I'll pick somethin' real simple, you ever heard of Berenstain Bears?"

They take Marty's car. Even though Rust had driver his stuff from the bar to the flat, Marty still won't let him drive when they go out, it exasperates Rust but he indulges him. He almost doesn't remember where the library actually is in town but at the last minute recalls- and sees a sign for it. The parking lot is near empty and inside is even more of a ghost town, the front desk isn't even occupied. Rust walks right by it like that's normal so Marty follows, looking up and down the shelves for any signs of life.

"S'it always like this?" He mumbles to Rust as he jogs to catch up. "I got goosebumps."

"You didn't have to come y'know," Rust says quietly, eyes forward, and Marty shuts up. He shoves his hands into his pockets and cursed himself silently. Rust slows and turns down a row of shelves, pausing in front of one marked 'e-g' by a little paper plaque.

"Didn't mean anythin' by it," Marty mutters. Rust keeps thumbing the spines in front of him and Marty sighs, glancing around. "I like it, really-" Rust snorts. "-Nice an' quiet, love that there's no air conditioning. Hardly anyone around..." He'd edged behind Rust as he spoke and slides his arms around Rust's middle. The tension in Rust's shoulders ease. "Take your time, baby, I'm just gonna, y'know, per-use." The deliberate mispronunciation finally gets a twitch of those lips so Marty kisses the corner of them and walks away without worrying.

It's not a big library, the 'Children's' 'Young Adults' section is to the left of the reception and the rest to the right. Marty ends up wandering up and down each aisle from 'fiction' to 'non-fiction', trawling the spines and pausing when one looks vaguely interesting. He pauses at the titles or authors he remembers from Rust's collection just to ponder if Rust has really read them all, what he might like for his birthday even if he doesn't celebrate it. It may be juvenile but the one that Marty picks up is, at first, only because the title has 'sex' in it. Henry Miller, Sexus. He'd seen this and 'Black Spring' on Rust's shelves but never took a peek.

He chews his lip and glances around then realises how stupid he's being, it's a library not an sex shop there isn't going to be porn on display. Skimming some of the pages make him certain of that, also makes him wonder why Miller wanted to eat some woman's toothbrush. Then he reads a little more and... Half of it he doesn't understand completely but all of it sinks in the same way Rust's talk does. He gets so caught up in reading a page about the Earth crumbling and the futile quest for beauty, truth and harmony, he doesn't hear Rust's first call from the top of the aisle.

"Marty?"

He snaps the book closed and looks up at Rust stood with four books under his arm and eyebrows raised. "Yeah, sorry, you ready to go?" Marty hurriedly replaces the book on its shelf.

"Uh-huh."

There's a woman at the desk when they go back out and she smiles at Rust like she recognises him. She scans each book's inside-cover and comments on a couple of them, Rust answers in his least antagonistic tone and thanks her when she hands them back. As they head out Marty pulls them from Rust's hands and ignores his glare, looking at the titles on the spine. To his surprise they aren't all about sad-ass murders and psychology like most of the books at home, there's a cookbook and a car manual.

Marty, knowing he's pushed his luck making jokes about it already, puts them in the back seat with asking anything. The Miller books stays on his mind throughout the rest of the day as they run errands and pick up Rust's prescription they'd forgotten about. He thinks about borrowing Rust's copy so he can finish that bit he was reading.

They weave in and out of shops on the high-street, remembering things they need or want as they go. Marty even manages to convince Rust to buy a new pair of jeans and some boots, although it isn't as much as he'd hoped because the sales assistant won't leave them alone. She's pretty and sweet and attentive and it frustrates the hell out of Marty even though Rust barely pays her any attention. He must sense Marty's mood because he doesn't argue with Marty as he hurries them out of there even though it'd been his idea of go in. When Marty stops in at an opticians to find a new spare pair to keep at work he actually pretends to care which ones Marty picks. As he looks in one of the mirrors through a frame-less pair he catches Rust watching behind him with an amused expression.

"What? You don't like these either?" Marty asks turning to face him. Rust shrugs and steps closer, raising his hand that isn't occupied by shopping bags and pushing the glasses up his nose. His sleepy eyes take him in and Marty tries not to squirm or grin.

"Suits you."

Marty blushes and glances around at the other customers and employees who're paying them no attention. "Y-yeah?"

"Mhm, makes you look smart."

"You makin' fun again?"

"No, 'm saying you are smart and they make you look it too."

"Oh." He feels a little breathless and, on impulse, kisses the corner of Rust's lips who looks just as surprised as Marty feels when he pulls away. "Think you'd look like a professor with glasses." It's supposed to be a compliment but it just sounds dumb and makes Marty blush even more but there's colour on Rust's cheeks now too so he smiles.

Marty's heart is still fluttering as he pays for the glasses and a case for them too, feeling distinctly like he just got swept of his feet by a tiny gesture. Rust is smoking next to the display window when he comes outside, shopping bags at his feet. The sky is hazy with thin clouds that makes the day cooler, slightly more bearable. There are goosebumps on Rust's arm and Marty wants to reach out and run his fingers over them through the fine brown arm hair over scarred skin.

Since the stitches came out Marty hasn't caught a glimpse of the scar on Rust's stomach. He'd helped change the bandages and apply the cream when Rust couldn't do it but since his mobility has slowly gotten better, he's taken care of it himself. It feels strange to admit he misses looking after him like that, misses touching Rust's skin beyond his neckline and sleeves.

They get off together plenty (it surprises Marty just passionate Rust is like he expected him to be above such base animal pleasure, but once again he underestimated Rust's depths) and Marty hates to complain when it's so good but he hasn't had Rust naked since the first- second, really- time. He's a tactile guy he likes skin on skin, kissing until lips are numb but Rust seems to prefer that thin cotton barrier between them. It's frustrating in a distant sort of way, he enjoys what they have already but it feels like Rust is holding back and that... That makes him paranoid.

Without noticing he touches Rust's pebbled skin, compelled by the unhappy train of thought. Rust watches him as he finishes the cigarette, that spark in his eyes which makes Marty feel stripped down to the bone. He hurriedly fills the silence.

"You wanna grab somethin' to eat while we're out? Gotta be almost dinner time by now."

"Little early but I could eat."

The diner on the route to and from work is where he stops for coffee for everyone in the morning, and occasionally dinner if he's particularly late. It's a nice place with booths like when Marty was a kid with more regulars than passers-through. It's not anywhere exciting but Marty knows Rust likes the food when he's brought some home and after a whole day out in town, somewhere familiar feels better. Walking up to the door, Marty holds it open for Rust and touches his palm to the small of his back as he goes by, he realises they are practically on a date.

The thought affixes a smile on his face as they walk past the counter and the waitress, knowing each other by face but not name, smiles at him.

"Unusual havin' you here on a Sunday," she says with that tired cheer every person working 9 to 5 has as she brings over their menus when they're seated. Marty smiles and Rust glances between them as he takes the laminated page from her. He knows what he's thinking in an instant: she's the spitting image of Audrey. This girl has darker eyes and a dimpled chin but she smiles just the same. It'd struck Marty like a fist to the chest when he'd first seen her, the weight of how completely he'd failed as a parent and the damaged he did suffocating him.

"Yeah, well, it's a special occasion," Marty replies with a shrug, hoping he's not obviously flushed.

She looks at Rust and smiles brightly. "I can see that, nice t' meet ya." Rust nods, eyelids heavy in that way that says he's avoiding eye-contact while being polite. "He's never brought anyone in here before, you must be important."

"He just likes your coffee," Rust says, evasive and sweet. She beams.

"Y'all want coffee? Or we got beer." Mary orders a tea and Rust asks for orange juice. She disappears into the kitchen, high ponytail bobbing as she goes.

"Look it's- Don't read into it, okay?" Marty says instantly defensive, something about Rust always make him jump to that position. "I didn't even know when I first came in, jus' wanted some coffee after a stakeout. And besides the food ain't bad."

Rust drapes an arm across the table, he'd be touching Marty's arm if it weren't for the light in his hand. He looks out of the window at the darkening sky. "You talk to her much?"

"I mean... whenever she's on shift-"

"Audrey, Marty."

"Oh... A little, yeah. She calls, text's more." It has been better since they visited at the hospital, before that he got nothing other than Maggie's updates, now they can hold inane conversation for more than five minutes. Marty always feels better after they've spoken, like he's getting back just a grain of time he missed. There's still detachment, his little girls are off living in the big wide world and Marty feels every one of the miles between them. The waitress just closes that distance for a moment, like the old photos in the draw and on the walls. "It's good. More than I deserve."

Before Rust can reply the waitress comes back with their drinks and takes their food order- burger and fries for both of them. The tea is herbal and calms a little of the anxiety in Marty's stomach. "Rust you, erm... You're okay, right?" Rust peers at him, expression unreadable but with a hint of uncertainty. "I jus' don't.... want you to think- I mean are you happy... with me?"

"Marty..." Rust says cautiously and Marty's chest constricts.

"Forget it I'm- I'm sorry, being a stupid, emotional old man over here." Marty glares at his mug and he takes a shaky sip, wondering how many times he can stick his foot in his mouth in one day. Then light fingers settle on his forearm and he looks up, finding Rust staring at his own hand.

"When I came here in '95 I was half dead, grievin' and doped up. Think what made it so hard for us at first was you... were the first person who I let myself talk to, couldn't understand why, for months I'd barely said a word."

"I was always tellin' you to shut up," Marty mutters more bitterly than he intended.

"But you'd just keep askin' questions anyway. I'd resigned myself, Marty, to waiting out the rest of my life until somethin' or someone killed me. No attachments, no commitments but you... and Maggie too, forced me to live some. Then in 2002-"

"Rust I shoulda-"

"I was so angry at both of you. You made me get some semblance of a life then took it away again without my consent. I was angry but I was ready to just... be hollow again, walked away from that parking lot straight to Alaska to wait. Then the case brought me back. I'm sittin' here today because you gave me one last chance. I felt Sophia and my pop and I felt you too, pulling in the opposite direction. I shouldn't 'ave woken up but you brought me back, Marty, gave me something new to live. Happy isn't the word for what I feel-" The plates clunk against the table as their diner arrives, bursting their bubble and both of them jerk. Marty realises his eyes are damp and blinks rapidly, seeing Rust look out of the window and raise a knuckle to his cheek out of the corner of his eye.

"Sorry about the wait, folks, enjoy," the waitress says, oblivious.

"Thanks, darlin'," Marty croaks, occupying himself with the cutlery even though he probably can't swallow anything around the lump in his throat yet. When she's gone again and Rust is unwrapping the paper napkin from around his knife and fork, Marty puts his on the table and grabs Rust's hand. There's a wet smear on his knuckle and Marty brings it up to his lips, pressing a searing kiss to the knobbly bones. He presses the backs of Rust's finger against his cheek then kisses them again.

"'M not letting you go, hope you realise that. Took ten years, a fist fight in a parking lot and an axe to the chest to get you," Marty lays Rust's hand on the table, covered by his and he smiles tearfully all that weight- the mail, the t-shirts, the insecurity of it all- lifted so suddenly has left him breathless. "You're mine."

Rust's smile is achingly fragile, those sleepy eyes glistening brightly. The moment is a tender one, the diner quiet around them except for the soft radio behind the counter and the distant hiss of a grill. Then Rust looks skyward and rubs his hand over his mouth.

"C'mon, eat somethin' already. All this emotional output you gotta be starving," Rust mutters, poking the edge of Marty's plate. Marty laughs wetly and nods, digging into the fries but most of his attention still on Rust, watching him pick at his burger. They eat quietly, halfway through his burger Marty realises he's exhausted and, judging by the way Rust is chewing every mouthful like he's trying to make cement, he's not the only one.

"Think I'm 'bout ready to head home, what d'you think?" Marty asks, nudging Rust's foot under the table. Rust bobs his head lazily and takes a last swig of juice before standing alongside Marty. At the counter the waitress smiles at them again and rings up the meal which Marty insists on paying for with a token protest from Rust. There's a smudge of ink on the inside of his wrist and her fringe is slipping free of her ponytail. She holds out the ten and the quarters but Marty shakes his head. "Keep the change, honey."

Outside the temperature has dropped dramatically, Marty shivers and Rust immediately reaches from his cigarettes. In the shadow of the car, Marty follows Rust to the passenger side and stops him from opening the door.

"You bein' a gentleman and opening it for me?" Rust asks as Marty leans him into the side of the car until he bows into the curve of it and they're pressed together from knee to chest.

Marty finds Rust's hip in the darkness, thumbing the jut of them. "Nothing gentlemanly about what I wanna do to you," He murmurs and finds his lips next. Rust hums against him, instantly opening up to Marty's needy kiss, arms draping around his shoulders. Marty gathers his hands around Rust's back forcing him closer, needing every inch of him as close as possible, under his skin if he could. He runs his tongue over Rust's lip, against his tongue, across his teeth. Rust's nails pinch the back of his neck and crushes their mouths together almost painfully.

"Rust, Christ, baby," Marty groans into him, palming Rust's sides and forcing himself to put space between them before someone gets scarred for life glancing out of the window. "Lets get outta here."

"I don't put out on the first date," Rust says, the roughness of his voice making Marty's spine tingle.

He gives Rust one more scorching kiss. "Think I've heard that one before, baby," he whispers with a grin, opening the door for him.

The ride home is painfully charged, Marty's half-hard by the time they get there and he knows Rust can tell because he's sitting in that spread-eagle, lazy way that he knows makes Marty crazy. He cuts the engine and stares at him for a moment, taking in the picture he cuts under the street light. "Get outta the damn car, Clint Eastwood," Marty growls.

They barely get through the door before Rust is on him and they're stumbling against the wall while the door falls shut. Marty grabs the wall then Rust's ass, dragging them together. Rust makes the sweetest noises, grinding up against him and trying to undo his belt at the same time. As soon as his buckle slips free Rust shoves his hand down Marty's pants and squeezes him hard. Marty groans and bites Rust's lip until he's gasping, from pain or pleasure he can't tell. He lets up and sucks the swollen skin apologetically, feeling Rust shudder and his fingers flex around his dick.

"Sweetheart, I got you." Marty tugs his belt open too and pushes his jeans down murmuring 'shoes, shoes' between kisses so when they drop Rust can kick them straight off. A pile of their clothes form around their feet until they're both in their sweaty t-shirts. Rust is hard against his hip and keens beautiful when Marty grabs his cheeks in a hard squeeze. He drags his fingers down Rust's crack, humming as he feels Rust clench. The image of Rust naked and flush on top of him flashes through his mind and, Jesus, he longs to see that again, be inside him- "Rust, baby, you gotta- let me eat you out, yeah?"

"Marty," Rust moans, hips kicking against Marty's thigh.

"Please," Marty mumbles, mouthing at his neck and pawing at his hip until Rust turns, moaning into the wall as Marty sinks to his knees like he's taking the goddamn sacrament. He kisses the soft flesh of Rust's thighs, running his hands up the front of them over his hips and beneath his t-shirt. He doesn't realise what he's done until Rust tenses and he immediately drops them to his hips, squeezing apologetically. "Sorry, baby, sorry."

One of Rust's hands covers Marty's and squeezes back, in both thanks and reassurance. With less frantic hunger Marty kisses down the globe of one cheek, cupping it like he would a breast. He does the same across the other side, teasing his thumb against Rust's hole. There's no elegant way to shove your face into someone's ass, but Marty loves to draw it out the way any kind for foreplay should be. He pulls Rust's cheeks apart and mouths there in a series of lingering kisses that have Rust shivering in no time. When he finally presses the tip of his tongue into that hot furl of skin, Rust is pushing back against him desperately.

"M-Marty, ah!" Rust chokes as Marty swirls his tongue and presses inside. Marty groans, jaw aching and completely out of breath but so desperate for more. Rust rolls his hips near frantic against Marty's mouth, high cries and gasps muffled in his forearm. Blindly Mart reaches around and palms Rust's dripping cock, earning a hoarse cry.

"You're gorgeous," Marty croaks, catching his breath and jerking Rust lazily. He looks up at Rust, mostly in shadow since they were in too much of a rush to turn the lights on but Marty can see him gasping against the back of his hand, eyes closed. His back curves away from the wall, legs spread either side of Marty's knees and thighs trembling. "Fuckin' beautiful."

He gets back to work, fucking Rust with his tongue and twisting his fist over Rust's length. Rust can't keep quiet now, rocking jerkily between Marty's mouth and hand as he deep wanton noises that make Marty ache to his very core. Rust's hand grabs at the back of Marty's hand, his nails dig in and Marty knows he's close. With one last cry Rust's hips kick hard and he's coming in Marty's fingers. Marty gasps, face wet and hot.

When Rust sags against the wall he takes his slicked up hand and grips his burning cock in hand, hissing as he thumbs the wet tip. He leans back and looks up at Rust as he turns around, chest heaving and eyes hazy. Marty knows he must look like even more of a wreck with red cheeks and redder dick, he kneels up and presses his face into Rust's stomach, breathing him in and tugging himself frantically. Against his cheek Rust's stomach clenches but then his hands gather Marty's face between them, petting him tenderly.

"Marty."

"I-" Those words stick in the back of his throat again, fighting to spill free. I love you, I love you, I love you. He gasps at the thought, whines Rust's name and comes with a jolt, turning his head to nose at Rust's palm as he strokes himself through it with weak little thrusts.

With a shaky sigh Marty kisses Rust's hand. "Don't think my legs are gonna be working for a few minutes." Rust laughs softly and tilts Marty's head up, running his thumb over his bottom lip. Marty beams at him, heart swelling with so much affection it's hard to contain and prickles at his eyes.

"Knew you were an ass man," Rust mutters and they both laugh.

"Yeah, well, I'm consistent if anything," Marty replies dryly, holding onto Rust's forearm as he stands and instantly feels his age. "Fuck- next time lets try and make it to the bed, 'kay?"

"Sure, Marty," Rust says dryly but stops Marty from tripping over his own feet.

"I can see you leanin' on the wall, man, don't think I don't know." Rust rolls his eyes and Marty smiles, leaning in and kissing him sweetly. He touches Rust's ribs tenderly and kisses his jaw. "Didn't pull anything?" He always asks even though he's more than halfway healed (and cleared for non-strenuous bedroom activity) and it exasperates Rust.

Rust hums and trails his fingers across Marty's. "You're good but you're not that good."

"Yeah? Not what you were sayin' five minutes, not that you were sayin' much of anything. You know what you sound like?" Marty murmurs. "Never though you could make noises like that." Rust shivers and kisses him again. Marty thinks they must make a funny picture naked from the waist down, Marty still has his socks on for Christ sake. Then Rust sighs and slaps Marty's hip.

"Go shower, you taste like ass."

"Alright, alright. Think my legs are good to go."

He takes his time brushing his teeth and washing his mouth out before showering, smiling to himself under the spray as he replays the scene. The bedroom light is on when he goes out, tying a towel around his waist.

"Hey, you wanna come into the offic-" He's cut off by the sudden sight of a very naked Rust by the chest of draws. Rust jerks around, bundle of cotton flying down to cover his chest. It's not hiding much of anything, Marty can't stop his eyes dropping to his nipples, it only covers- Oh. Instantly he feels like an idiot and surprised at the same time, then quickly drops his gaze. "Sorry, didn't realise-"

Rust turns back to the draws and drags the shirt on forcefully."S'fine."

"Rust-"

"Said it's fine, Marty."

There's a terrible silence while Rust drags on a pair of shorts and goes to the bathroom, brushing past Marty. He stares at the carpeted floor, toes flexing against the rough polyester. He should have see it- or should he? This is Rust; vanity, self-consciousness, that doesn't compute. People get embarrassed about their wrinkles, their moles, their scars but Rust Cohle? The man keeps (kept, then keeps again) himself presentable enough to function in "society" so why... Is it to do with him?

Marty's never really been self-conscious, a little about losing his hair and gaining weight but he's never had conventional looks and always relied on charm. Rust has always been frustratingly gorgeous from head to toe, with a personality so juxtaposed it gives people whiplash. Getting cut up like that... Marty had said it suited him for fuck's sake. He curses and closes his eyes, guilt churning in his stomach. He had meant Rust looked rugged not that the outside matches the inside; hurt and scarred beyond repair. Does Rust think he doesn't... want to see him anymore?

"Rust," he sighs when the man comes back smelling like mouthwash. Before he can be ignored any further he catches Rusts arm and stops him retreating to the bed. He's tense. "It doesn't- Look at me, c'mon." When he doesn't move Marty does, standing in front of him and taking his hand. He lifts it to his chest, to the shiny raised flesh below his collarbone. The pain hadn't hit him the same time as the axe did then after a shocked couple of seconds he'd felt it sear through his chest like a hot poker. He can hardly imagine what Rust must have felt. "'S not pretty but it ain't ugly, right? I know it ain't the same but... Rust, man, I've seen you trashed on beer, lookin' like a trailer park Jesus and smellin' like the back alley of a bar..."

"When I first met you I was so mad you were so damn pretty- are, so damn pretty. I was jealous, yeah, but... I didn't wanna think about how much I thought about your nice hair, way your hands moved, that goddamn drawl-" He still won't meet his eye but Rust's lip twitches. "'S never changed, Rust. Every inch of you then and now..." Marty carefully slips his hand under Rust's t-shirt, fingers brushing the bottom of the scar tissue. Rust's stomach jumps and he breaths out shakily tracing Marty's scar up and down. "I'm not making fun when I say you're gorgeous, gorgeous." There is nothing else to say, he doesn't know how to do this kind of thing but after a moment Rust lays his head on Marty's shoulder. Squeezing his eyes closed, Marty stifles his sigh of relief and hugs Rust with one arm. Slowly he melts against his chest.

"This is why you need glasses," Rust whispers eventually.

"Huh?"

"I forget that you're smarter than you look."

Marty chuckles. "Takes me a minute but I get there. You're not the only detective in this relationship." He hugs him tightly. "Just think about it. I don't mind the big t-shirts, God knows I like you in mine, but I like your skin more. When I remember that first time at your place I remember your skin looked like it was glowin', how your chest heaved and your back curved." Marty runs his palm up Rust's chest, shirt bunching up around his wrist. "Guy like you shouldn't be so damn... elegant. You drive me crazy."

There's a noise from Rust then suddenly he's kissing Marty messily, in slow hungry bites. Marty circles his arms around Rust's wait, shivering as their bare bellies touch. They sway and kiss, Marty feels lighter than he has all day. Rust's hands curl into his feathery hair at the base of his neck, tracing soothing circles with his fingers. He stops kissing him but stays there, brushing his lips over Marty's back and forth. Marty hardly dares to breath in fear of breaking the spell. Then Rust sighs.

"Long day."

"Damn long day," Marty concurs with a chuckle, they break apart reluctantly and Marty switches off the lights as Rust gets into bed. He joins him, sliding under the sheets and curling himself around Rust's back. Half the time they wake up the opposite way around or move away entirely when the heats too much, but Marty likes falling asleep with Rust right there.

"Got work tomorrow."

"Yeah. I was sayin' before you should come in with me, got some files set aside for you to take a look at. Jus' cold cases, shit you'll solve in a second I bet." Marty shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant but he's tense with expectation. Having Rust come work with him has been on his mind for a while now, he's been fantasizing about it like a teenage girl (one step away from writing their last names in hearts on the back of case reports).

Rust is quiet for a moment then murmurs. "I can take a look." Marty grins, splays his fingers over Rust's ribs and kisses the back of his neck softly.

"Good," he whispers and settles down, listening to Rust's breathe even out as he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This series seems to be the 'they must end up happy in bed together every time' series...
> 
> Also all titles are from songs by Elbow


End file.
